


Kankri ==> Love Him

by twii2ted_8333335



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluffy Ending, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Xeno, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he kisses you, he makes it feel like you have found the salvation you once sought to bring to others.</p><p>When he holds you, his grip is solid but not suffocating. </p><p>When he loves you, he makes sure you know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kankri ==> Love Him

**Author's Note:**

> This literally just kind of appeared in Google docs, I swear. I don't remember starting it, I barely remember writing it and I have no clue when I finished it. Pretty sure it was one of those late night sessions. I never remember those.

When he kisses you, he makes it feel like you have found the salvation you once sought to bring to others. His lips are warm and patient, waiting for you to relax before moving more. You aren't used to this type of affection still but he works you into it so well. His arms bring you closer slowly, giving you ample time to pull back or say he's going too fast, although you think he learned his lesson the first time the two of you tried taking this step. You may have been admittedly excessive in your lecturing, but your point had gotten across. 

When he holds you, his grip is solid but not suffocating. He brings you chest to chest, arms around your lower back. He's made a move to grab your rear a few times in the past, and you don't mind it so much now, but you still give him a dirty look when he does it. You feel it breaks the romantic mood the slow pace you need to go at sets. He chuckles at you, kisses your nose as an accompaniment to his apology, and returns to your lips. He doesn't do that now, content enough with just holding you. 

He doesn't pick you up when he wants to move elsewhere. He doesn't drag you along, still trying to kiss you. He pulls back, motions to the futon or to the room upstairs that had been unoccupied in the time you'd know him. He mentioned that his kid brother used to reside there but he had moved out before you came along. You like to think Dave's leaving was why you were here now, that he had felt lonely and tried to find someone, something, to fill the space he'd left behind. You like to think you did the job fairly well. 

When he motions to the futon, you end up sharing more kisses and watching odd movies that he tends to label ironic. He holds you close to his side, occasionally pulling you into his lap. You surprisingly never minded it. The enveloping warmth he created when he did it always soothed you in the past and the present. 

When he motions to upstairs, no matter how subtly or how many times he's done it, you blush. Bright crimson explodes onto your cheeks, your eyes darting away from his shade-covered ones. He chuckles again, this deep rumble that always reminds you he's said you don't have to say yes if you're too nervous or don't want to. He's assured you many times that he isn't offended and that you aren't withholding anything from him. You remember saying no a lot the first few times; your chest used to tighten up at the thought of attempting something so intimate with your lack of experience. He had always calmed you down, apologized and practically pampered you the rest of that day to make up for it. Nowadays you were more insecure than nervous. 

This time, he motions for upstairs and you do nod.

He walks you up the stairs, leaning down once you reach the top to give you a soft encouraging kiss. He continues this until you're both sitting on the bed that is no longer the one his brother slept in. It's a proper bed, large enough to hold two people and his ample room. He initiates another kiss of several, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. 

He works you over so well now. He eases you into the passion and onto the bed with all the care in the world. It makes you feel special, loved, wanted even. You often wonder and hope he feels the same, especially when you do gain the courage to return his touches. You don't usually until he's hovering above you, and your hand places itself on his cheek. It moves up, removes his glasses, then moves down across his neck and bared chest. You never see him take his shirt off, too distracted by everything else. He doesn't touch your sweater nor tries to anymore.

The first time you two made it this far and showed no signs of stopping, he tried to take off your sweater. You aren't ashamed to admit you had something of a meltdown over it, and you both had a very serious talk over dinner about boundaries and what yours were for the moment. You told him perhaps one day you would trust him enough to take all of your clothes off, to take away every bit of security you had because you wouldn't need it around him any longer. 

Your hand travels down his arm, grasps his. You lift it up, watching your limb tremble slightly. He stares at you with curious and then wide eyes as you place his hand onto the edge of your sweater. You didn't know if you were ready, but you wouldn't ever if you didn't try. It had been months since you first went all the way, just over a year since you'd first started going out. It wouldn't be the first time your session would have suddenly halted; it probably wouldn't be the last either. 

He lifts the fabric of your sweater up and you feel yourself tense. 

"You alright there?"

You nod.

"Kankri..." 

"I," you pause to breathe, "will be fine. Please just continue." 

He still looks at you warily, gauging your reactions as he removes your most precious belonging, despite your hatred for it. It reminded you of home, of your best friend of a mother. It kept you safe and calm when you were at your lowest point. That wasn't it's purpose now — that job belonged to Bro, to your matesprit. You could admit that's how you thought of him now. 

You feel cold without your sweater on. You shiver, convulse, cling to Bro when he holds you close to him again. His lips kiss you again, on your neck and cheeks and nose so that you could breathe properly. He speaks to you, a soft tone that has you practically melting, "It's alright. You know I'm not gonna hurt you. You're okay, it's okay, it's okay..." You find that despite how simple the words are, hearing them spoken out loud and directed at you is more calming than one would think. You _are_ okay and you tell him so. He can continue when he wishes.

Maybe you are still a little shaky as he works your pants off, candy red slipping back onto your cheeks. You can't help but think he's going to freak out over seeing your bulge again. He used to find it not disgusting, but foreign enough that the natural progression of things was stunted for a while. Several anatomy lessons and explanations later he seemed to be used to you having a different anatomy than him. You, having done your own research while doing some for him, were fairly prepared to see his that first time and didn't quite have the mental breakdown Bro had. 

Those days were long gone. He would touch you with no hesitation, long slow strokes of his fingers. You squirm beneath the touch, your bulge curling around his wrist in excitement despite your embarrassment from both its overactiveness and the noises escaping your lips. Your arm seems to enjoy placing itself over your face, trying to hide your intense blush, and sometimes Bro just chuckles and let's you hide. Sometimes he moves your arm, claiming to want to see how beautiful you are — even when you both know you're covered in sweat by this point from all your nervousness and maybe even drooling a little — and he wants to hear all the wonderful sounds you make, loud and clear. Not that you ever had problems being louder for the sake of others. The bedroom was apparently no exception. 

While your bulge is still strange to him, your nook is something he seems to be familiar with. From both his word and your research, you learned that your nook was much more similar to female human anatomy than your bulge was to the male counterpart. He's never rough as he runs his fingers along all the sensitive bits, but he has the tendency to get over excited in the familiar territory. While the pleasure always feels astounding, you can't help but feel somewhat overwhelmed by it all at once, and often have to remind him to slow down.

"Sorry, sorry..." He kisses at the hand you used to grab his arm, needing some other way besides verbal to get his attention, since your mouth was occupied with breathing and moaning and just voicing out how much you enjoy what he did to you. "It's just seeing you get all worked up like that makes me forget sometimes. It's pretty cool, just seeing you let go. Just makes me wanna do it more." He continues kissing at your hand and wrist and arm, his fingers slowly resuming their motions inside you at a much more acceptable pace. 

He winds up stopping just as you feel ready to hit your peak, leaving you biting back whines and pleads for him to just finish you now while you're so close to the edge. Your bulge squirms against your stomach as he shifts to remove his own pants finally and you cover your face even more so than usual when said bulge wraps around his. You both gasp and rock into the touch for a few moments, bringing you right back to that edge, but all too soon he's tugging your bulge off of his and apologizing for teasing you so much. 

He hoists your legs up, just to his hips, enough to get a better angle on you or so he claims. You think he just enjoys seeing you spread out more, which you don't mind so much now. He never stares at you or compliments you in a more lewd manner so you grew accustomed to this position. In the time it gets him to shift the two of you, you've cooled down again, just like he probably wanted.

When he presses inside you, he kisses you too, swallows up the strained noises of half pain. It doesn't hurt so much anymore as it does just burn from the initial stretch, and the fact that your body was not made to accept a human. He still has to stop a few times, both for your sake and for his own — he always claims the feeling of you, warm and tense and shuddering around him is overwhelming the way his fingers are to you — but eventually he's fully inside you, both of you breathing heavy and adjusting as needed so neither of you are uncomfortable. 

He starts with little rolls of his hips to get you both reacquainted with the feeling of him inside you. The motion draws small gasps from your lips and small grunts from his own. He builds up to more prominent thrusts, hitting you deeper and deeper until you feel almost too full with every press inside of you. You cling to him tightly, frantically kissing at him, wanting more but too afraid to ask, wanting it to stop but in too much pleasure to plead. Your emotions conflict with each, constantly making you relax and tense and cry out near mindless babbling. 

Neither of you last long, not like this, not when it's built up and at that perfect midpoint between desperate fucking and passionate love making. You spill over first, your bulge untouched and convulsing against your belly, with Bro following just a few moments behind. You ride out your orgasms together, holding onto each other and gasping each other's names. 

When he pulls out, you feel empty and yet full. There isn't enough genetic material inside you to push out immediately after he leaves, although you know it will gradually once you stand and shower. Before you can start that chain of events, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. Your head rests lightly on his chest, his heartbeat thumping under your ear. The sound soothes you in all honesty, lulls you even. His whispering voice, telling you how proud he is of you and how much he loves you and how beautiful you are in the afterglow, isn't helping much. He pulls a blanket over the two of you as he speaks and you quickly warm it. 

You sigh, contented, embarrassed, sated. You have a mess of emotions stirring in your thinkpan but none of them are negative. 

As you drift off to sleep, a murmured, "I love you too," passing your lips, you realize that that is exactly what love is. This mess of emotions that lead up to this one peaceful state by the end of the day. You do love Bro, even now, even after all you have gone through to get to this point. You love him, pity him, are so painfully flushed for him.

You love it.


End file.
